Mayday
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Now Complete! When a teammate is injured, Psion Force shows up at Wayne Manor to ask Batman for help. Introducing a new team of vigilantes in Gotham.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan-fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing.

Note: Yes, I am drawing Bruce a bit lighter. Four years pre-Knightfall, he hadn't lost Jason.

* * *

**Prologue**

"Mayday!" Naiad's voice came through the commlink clearly. "Phasma's hurt. Repeat, we have a member down. Amusement Mile."

Hindsight acknowledged the message and patched the signal through to the rest of the team. Silver Dragon was first to respond. "How bad?" 

"Bad. She took a wrecking ball to the ribs and the impact knocked her through a boarded window."

Silver Dragon exhaled slowly. "Hindsight, have Kay take the van out there. Naiad, give me a precise twenty. Kensai and Umbra are in Oldtown—they'll reach you first. I'm on my way."

"What about Pathwarden?" Naiad asked. " There was a moment's silence. "Well, what do you think?" Sil snapped. "Of course he's coming!" The connection went dead.

"Ouch!" Kay said, from behind her. She was already pulling on her jacket. "I thought Callie got rid of that temper of hers."

Hindsight tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "With Alison away, she's the only doctor we've got, and she's barely out of pre-med. Cut my sister some slack, willya?"

Kay Berger grabbed the van keys from the counter. "Sure. Tell her I just left." She closed the door behind her.

Hindsight let her head sink slowly onto the table. "Bronwen Aaronson," she told herself furiously, "you know that worrying won't change anything so just stop stressing." Yeah, right. Stop blinking while you're at it. She reached for the small leather-bound prayer book on the shelf above her and flipped to the back where the psalms were. "Jill's Hebrew name is 'Yehudis,'" she reminded herself. I am reciting these for a recovery for 'Yehudis bas Miriam.'" Which was precisely all she could do at the moment.

* * *

By the time Kay arrived with the van, the rest of the team had assembled. Silver Dragon, already in civilian attire, had removed Phasma's helmet and mask. The helmet had probably saved her life a thousand times over, Callie thought to herself. I wonder why Gotham's official vigilantes don't wear them. "Jill," she said aloud. "Jill! Hey, Perkal, can you hear me?" The younger woman moaned. Semi-conscious, with her honey-blond bangs plastered against her forehead, she looked considerably younger than her twenty years. "Hang in there, girl, you're going to be OK."

Kay and Pathwarden wheeled the stretcher out of the van. Callie looked at her older brother. Only a faint tremor in his hands betrayed him. He and Jill had been, while not dating, exactly, certainly close for two years. "OK, Bran?" she asked softly.

Pathwarden smiled faintly. "Codenames in costume, Cal. Oldest rule you made. Give us a hand lifting her?"

There were times when metahuman abilities came in handy. Callie levitated Phasma onto the stretcher and helped move it back into the van. "Kay, I'd prefer to look at her in a stationary vehicle, but if anyone's coming and we need to move, we will. Just let me know before you have to put it in gear. Naiad, report." Naiad frowned. Overhead, it began to rain. "Either that's a coincidence," said the young elemental pointing at the window, "or my shields aren't holding up too well. Jill and I were investigating a crackhouse in the area. We found it. We nabbed five of the goons, but two ran. One of those two got into the cab of that wrecking crane and—he swung the ball. Jill must've rolled with it, and he didn't have a lot of momentum or maneuvering room, or it could've been worse. Anyway, I got the creep—don't worry he's alive, but it was close. We have 'em tied up inside. Umbra went to alert GCPD."

"Where's Kensai?"

"Standing guard."

They were inside the van, now. Cal unzipped Jill's tunic. Despite the padding, the woman's chest was one massive black-and-blue mark. Almost certainly there were cracked ribs. What if it was worse? What if there were internal injuries? "_Ribono shel Olam_," she prayed, "I'm just starting my first year of medical school. Help me. Please, don't let her die. Don't let her die because I don't know what to do!"

When the team had begun its forays in Toronto, a decade before, she would have opted for a bandaid solution. Assume the ribs are broken, tape them up, and come up with a convincing cover story so her mother doesn't suspect anything. Anything to safeguard their identities. That was the difference between being twelve and being twenty-two, she thought.

Kensai let herself in the back of the van. "The police are almost here," she said pulling off her mask. "Is Jill going to be alright?" When her older sister failed to respond, she asked again. "Callie?"

Cal let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "I don't know, Natalie. Kay, where's the nearest hospital?"

"Madison General," Kay said after a moment, "but—"there was no need to finish the sentence. Madison had the highest mortality rate in the city.

Natalie Aaronson gasped. "Callie, you can't. If we take her to a hospital—"

"She might pull through this!" Callie snapped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Umbra phase through the side of the van. That was everyone. Perfect. "I am not going to lose her because I don't have the training to know what's wrong. And if our pictures show up in the tabloids tomorrow, we'll just have to deal with that, won't we? Kay, how long would it take you to drive to Saint Swithin's?

"At this time of morning, about twenty-five minutes."

Callie nodded. "Do it."

"Wait!" Natalie said. "We're only five minutes from Bristol, aren't we?

"Yes," Kay said with some confusion. "From the nearest access, but so what? Oaklands Medical is private _and _clear on the other side of the 'burb."

"That's not where I was thinking we could take her."

Umbra looked up. "You... know about him?"

"I've known for two years. He'll help. No matter what he thinks of us, you know he'll help."

"_What_ are you two on about?" Pathwarden asked from his post at the head of the stretcher.

"Kay," Natalie said, "get us to Wayne Manor."

Kay glanced behind her. "Callie?"

Callantha Aaronson faced her two youngest sisters. "Why would we want to go there?" she asked, mystified. "Tabitha?"

Umbra started to say something. Natalie stepped on her foot. "Trust me, we do."

Callie shook her head. "You're going to have to give me something more than that."

"I can't. But Cal, have I ever steered you wrong before?"

Callie looked away. "I don't think you understand. Jill is seriously injured. Every second we delay could make it worse, and I am not going to knock on the door of Wayne Manor at—"she glanced at the digital time display "four-forty-seven a.m. without a good reason."

Natalie swallowed. "Cal, if he wants to tell you why he'll help, that's his business. But he will help, and at the end of the day, Jill _and _our identities will be safe. Please, Cal, if you've ever trusted me, if there's anything I've ever done right, in or out of costume, do this." Natalie had stopped throwing temper tantrums at the age of four. Twelve years later, she looked like she was going to relapse.

Cal looked at Natalie, then back to Jill. As if in response, the older girl moaned. Callie bit her lip. "It's not a question of trust," she said quietly. "Without more data, I can't risk it. Kay—"

"Kay!" Natalie interrupted. "_Please_!"

"Callie's the leader," Kay said regretfully. "I'm sorry."

Callie finished taping Jill's ribs. "Natalie, give me something to go on. Anything. Otherwise, I'm sorry, but--"

"Bruce Wayne is Batman." Umbra interrupted. "Satisfied now?" Callie looked up, stricken. Natalie nodded, an expression of cold fury on her face.

"Cal?" Kay asked after thirty seconds of silence.

Callie's reply was barely louder than a whisper. "Bristol."


	2. Chapter 1: Then and Now

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan- fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing

* * *

**Chapter 1: Then And Now**

"I'm... sorry, Natalie," Cal said.

"I know you are."

From behind the screened partition, Tabitha called, "how did you find out anyway?" She emerged in street clothes, a three-quarter-length denim skirt, and black turtleneck, copper-blond braids hanging past her shoulder blades.

Natalie ducked behind the partition. "It was during a solo patrol. I was downtown, about twenty stories up, looking for work. He came up behind me. I sensed it, spun and—

* * *

_"Who are you?" His voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, slicing the night like a scythe. Kensai couldn't see his eyes behind the opaque lenses of his cowl, but imagined that they were blazing. He was not pleased to see her. She tried to see herself as he might view her. Kensai had no illusions about her appearance. At fourteen, she was slightly built, (flat- chested, too—he might not realize that she was a girl, until she started talking!) wearing a long-sleeved gray tunic to the knee, and loose leggings of the same color tucked into low boots. A round helmet and domino mask adorned her head, and a stylized Greek Psi was sewn onto a cream epaulet on her left shoulder. Arm-guards protected her from elbow to forearm, and she sported a bandolier- belt with pockets and pouches. A lone dagger completed the ensemble._

_"Kensai." She mumbled, barely audible. OK, there was some justification. Her major growth spurt had ended already, leaving her at her full height of five-feet-and-one-half-inch, and weighing in at one- hundred-and-three pounds—a good part of it muscle. He had to be more than twice her age, more than twice her weight, and more than a good foot taller. And for him to get this close to her without her telepathy warning her... Her palms were sweating, her heart was pounding—they could probably hear it over in Tricorner—  
_

_"What are you doing here?"  
_

_"Scouting."  
_

_"No." He said. "You're going home. What you're doing is dangerous. You're going to get yourself hurt. Or worse."  
_

Gee, thanks a lot, Mister_, she thought, with sudden irritation. _I've only been doing this since I was six, and my most serious injuries have come about during intramural sports. Who died and made you king?

_Mercifully, at that moment, her commlink signaled. Instantly, she snapped to attention. "Kensai." Naiad was on dispatch that night. "I'm two blocks from there, now... I'm on it... when can she get here? If I can't deal with it in fifteen minutes, I _will _need backup, so yes, send her. Kensai out." She looked up. Tall- dark-and-scary was still looming. She drew a deep breath. "There's a B&E two blocks over. I'm going to deal with it. If you want to get involved, I won't say no." _(Like it would make a difference, if I did!)_ "Or, you can see me in action, and decide for yourself whether I can handle myself."_ (And please, don't think I'm a mouthy teen, but I've trained for this, and I've been operating in Gotham for two years, and I do know what I'm doing.)

_And still he did not answer. Kensai shrugged. "I'm leaving, now." She turned, and depressed a stud on her arm guard. Her grappling hook arced on its line, looping gracefully around a horizontal flagpole two buildings over and five stories up. As she swung herself off of the rooftop, one thought ran through her mind: Natalie Aaronson, don't you dare start grandstanding now!_

* * *

"Once that little situation was under control, I went back up to the rooftop. He wasn't there. I guess after watching how I handled it, he either decided I knew what I was doing or he decided to reserve judgment."

"I think I remember you mentioning running into him," Naiad said. "But that still doesn't explain how you found out—"

Natalie emerged from behind the partition, tucking a high-necked tartan blouse into a bottle-green pleated skirt. "Sometimes, being telepathic means you pick things up without meaning to. Remember, everyone's brain-wave pattern is unique, just like retina scans and fingerprints. I got a mindful of his that night. And three days later, when my young entrepreneurs' club took us on a field trip to Wayne-Tech, and Mr. Wayne was able to take a few minutes to come out of his office and say 'hi,' I picked up the same pattern." She looped a white band around her jet-black hair, securing it in a ponytail. "But I didn't think I had the right reveal it to anyone else.

"All yours, Maybelle."

Naiad doffed her helmet and ducked behind the screen.

"Almost there," Kay called from the driver's seat. "How's our patient?"

"Holding on," Callie replied. "I think I've stabilized her enough that we might be able to keep her out of an emergency room, but without the proper equipment, I won't know for sure.

"Natalie, since you're the only one of us who's actually met him before, you'll handle the initial contact."

Natalie swallowed. "Um, the last time we met, I was kind of slow of speech and slow of tongue."

Tabitha gave her older sister a hard poke on the arm. "And just think of the opportunity to erase a first impression!"

"Or to make one." Cal said. "Go with her." Consternation crossed her face. "Maybe you shouldn't have changed clothes."

Natalie considered. "It's probably better this way. I mean, fair is fair. If we know about him, he really should know about us. Besides, the road up to Wayne manor may be a low-traffic area, especially at this hour, but if any cars did happen along, I think it would be harder to come up with a convincing explanation for why Bruce Wayne would be opening the door to costumed vigilantes, don't you?

Pathwarden looked up from Jill's side. "Cal, why are you suddenly so worried?" he asked reasonably. "A few minutes ago, you were ready to let a whole hospital know about us. At least we can assume he'll keep our secret."

Cal didn't reply. As the van halted, she asked, "Kay, did you miss the gate?"

"Stopped short of it, actually," Kay said. "It might look a little suspicious letting the children off at the front door and waiting there. Besides, at this hour, he'd be more likely to let them in if he thinks they have a ways to walk alone in the rain and the dark."

Tabitha grinned. "Kay, after prolonged exposure, it looks like my influence is finally rubbing off!"


	3. Chapter 2: Questions, Answers, and Intro...

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan- fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing

* * *

**Chapter 2: Questions, Answers, and Introductions**

"What if he's still out?" Her fingers traced one of the stylized "W's" set into each gate.  
Tabitha shook her head. "Bats are nocturnal," she replied, absolutely deadpan. "Sun comes up in less than an hour. He should be back. If you're concerned, you do have a way to verify."

Natalie looked away. "It's invading his privacy."

"Explain to me again how that's different from scanning an area telepathically when you're in the field?"

Natalie sighed. "It isn't really. It's just that in the field, it's vital to know if someone's sneaking up on you. It's—"she glanced up, sharply. "When I'm doing a surface scan, it's more defensive... passive. I just need to know how many minds are in the room with me, I don't really care who they are. It's the difference between glancing and staring. But to go scanning for one mind in particular..." she passed a hand over her eyes. "Forget it. Maybe I _am_just being hypocritical. I do what I do if there's a life at stake, and this situation qualifies. Gimme a second." Slowly, she stretched her mind forward, gently... carefully... keeping her mental defenses as high as possible. That was the thing about telepathy—to be open to receive someone else's thoughts, you had to lower your own mental barriers in the process. Years of practice had given her powerful shields, but raising and lowering them was not something she enjoyed. It took less than a minute. "He's back. He's in an underground cave, which runs beneath and adjacent to the house. I guess that's where he prepares."

"How do you know it's not a basement?"

"Too much animal life, and too much of it is near the ceiling of the place. Either the man breeds them in his cellar in his spare time, or we'd call that a bat-cave no matter whose hangout it was."

"Is he alone? Apart from the animal life, I mean."

Natalie shook her head. "Nobody else in the cave, but there's someone awake and alert on ground level. No guarantee that he or she knows. And I'm not going to probe."

Tabitha nodded her understanding. She took a deep breath and rang the bell. No answer.

"The person on the ground floor heard you," Natalie said. "And it's a 'he'. He's just waiting a minute. Probably wants us to think he wasn't up. Ring it again." Tabitha complied. "I think He heard it in the cave, too."

"If there's no answer, I'm phasing us through," she warned.

A sleepy voice came out from the intercom. "Yes?"

"We need to speak with Mr. Wayne," Tabitha said, quickly.

"Mr. Wayne is indisposed at this hour," the voice said sternly.

"No, he's not," Tabitha said mildly.

"I-- beg your pardon?" Whoever he was, all pretense of drowsiness was now gone.

"Look," said Tabitha, "this is an emergency. I know Mr. Wayne is up. I know he usually is at this hour, and although we would love to fill you in on the details of how I know, we simply don't have the time. All I can tell you is that my sister and I have to speak to Mr. Wayne now."

"_Please_," Natalie interjected in a stage whisper.

"Please," amended Tabitha.

There was a long pause. Natalie suddenly had an inspiration. "Sir," she said, "Mr. Wayne met me at a roof party downtown about two years ago. He thought I was a little young to be at an affair like that, and who knows, maybe he was even right, but I'd like to believe I got him to reconsider. That's not what this is about. Please believe me. This is not a hoax, not a dare. But we can't say anything else without maybe telling you things he might not have told you--" Her voice trailed off. She wiped sweaty palms on her skirt.

With a rattle, the gates swung open. Tabitha clapped her on the shoulder. "Come on."

* * *

The two teenaged girls raced up the gravel path to the manor. As they reached the front door, it opened to reveal a sparely built man in his early sixties. He was impeccably dressed in pinstriped pants, white shirt, and black jacket and necktie. He ushered them inside with a raised eyebrow.

"Wait here," he said, showing them to a sitting room. "Mr. Wayne will be with you shortly."

Natalie smiled. "Thank-you, Mr—"

"Alfred Pennyworth, at your service," He inclined his head.

"And I'm Natalie Aaronson. This is my sister, Tabitha." Alfred extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Natalie took it. Tabitha followed suit.

After Alfred left, closing the door behind him, Natalie asked, "Should we have done that? Shook hands, I mean?"

Tabitha considered. "Would have been ruder not to. If you're dealing with someone who doesn't know about _negiya_, I think you're allowed to be lenient."

"Hope so," Natalie said, unconvinced. "So, do you think he knows what his boss is up to every night?"

Tabitha frowned. "Almost definitely. I mean, how does someone live under the same roof with someone else and not notice?"

"Ask Jill's parents," Natalie remarked. There really wasn't much to say after that, so the two sat silently.

And then the door opened again.

He was wearing a bathrobe over sweatpants, Natalie noted, and he looked tired. Either he thinks we're bluffing, or it's been a long night for him, too. Probably both. He looked quizzically at them. "Have we met?"

Natalie met his gaze levelly. "Twice before." The first time, I was wearing a gray suit. I... I believe you were too. I was scouting."

He leaned forward, suddenly alert. Mask or no mask, they were in the same room with Batman, now. "Kensai." It was not a question.

Natalie inclined her head slightly. "A team-mate is hurt. For obvious reasons, we'd rather keep her out of hospital. Since you've probably been in similar situations, we thought—I thought—you might be able to help us." She winced. Spoken aloud, it sounded pretty lame. _And the last time he spoke to me, he told me I was going to get hurt, didn't he?_

When he spoke again, it was with the faintest hint of amusement. "Alfred will be able to help you with that. Where is your friend?"

"In a van parked just out of sight of your main gate. I should probably check in with Silver Dragon, if that's alright."

That elicited a frown. "The manor has certain security measures in place which make radio contact difficult."

"How about telepathic contact?"

The man who was the Batman blinked. "So, that's how you found out—"

"Yes. Inadvertently."

The frown deepened. "Alright. Tell-- Silver Dragon to bring the van up to the front gate. Alfred will direct her from there." He left the room, and returned a moment later.

"Police band reported a crackhouse destroyed on Amusement Mile." His voice was almost casual. "A wrecking crane at the scene was--reduced to--melted slag. You?"

"Naiad." Natalie admitted. "After removing the crane operator, of course."

"We were in Oldtown, tonight," Tabitha provided. "The Krasinskys were expecting a certain munitions shipment which we, um, diverted to the Gotham Harbor Patrol instead."

"And the gang war in Tricorner?"

"Sil and Pathwarden."

"It sounds like you've been busy."

"Well, no more so than usual," Natalie said. "Um. What I found out two years ago was not revealed until tonight. Just so you know.

"They're coming," she added. "I—we really appreciate this. If a couple of total strangers turned up at my front door at five in the morning with a situation like this—"

"Natalie! Everything's working out, don't give the man ideas!"

"Do your parents know what you're up to?" He asked suddenly.

Tabitha met his gaze levelly. "Our mother walked out on us when I was six weeks old."

"And your father?"

"Died before I was born."

"I'm--sorry." He sounded it, too. Natalie knew why—she had done her homework on the man after her second encounter with him. "Who looks after you, then?"

"Silver Dragon," Natalie said. "Not that we need much looking after these days."

For what seemed an eternity, he did not speak. His eyes traveled from one to the other, stopping on Natalie. "You're older than she is, then?"

Natalie sighed. "Yes, by eleven months. Tabitha's taller, though," she added with a wry smile. It wasn't being short, per se, which annoyed her; it was being shorter than her younger sister by nearly four inches. Still, she should be used to that particular reality by now.

Alfred opened the door. "Begging your pardon, Master Bruce, but they are here."

Bruce extended an arm. "Shall we?"

The two girls got up immediately and followed him through the front hallway, then into a paneled study. A large grandfather clock, which should have been flush with the wall stood at an angle, revealing a dim stairway. The walls were irregular stone.

"Natural cave?" Tabitha asked as they proceeded down.

"Yes."

* * *

In the cave, Callie and Brandon had transferred Jill to a waiting cot. Alfred was assisting with an IV. Bruce looked around him. All told, there were seven of them, a man who appeared to be in his middle twenties, and six girls and women whose ages seemed to span from early teens to middle twenties. The tall woman with the long jet-black hair, who had to be Silver Dragon, didn't look more than twenty-five. How old could she have been when she took charge of her younger teammates? All were in civilian garb by this time, the girls and women in high-necked, long-sleeved tops, and long skirts; the man wore an Oxford cloth shirt and corduroys. It was the skullcap on his head, and the long fringes dangling from his waist that clinched it. Bruce couldn't quite keep from being surprised. You just didn't run into many Orthodox Jews in spandex. Although, now that he came to think of it, Kensai hadn't worn spandex, that night. She was the only team member he'd ever taken a good look at in costume, but loose tunics, leggings, and helmets did seem to be their regulation uniforms.

The tall woman met his gaze with a smile. "I'm Callantha Aaronson," she introduced herself, stepping forward. You've met my two youngest sisters, Natalie and Tabitha. This is my brother, Brandon, and my younger sister Maybelle," she indicated the shorter of the two other women. She gestured to the cot. "And this is Jill Perkal." She smiled self-consciously. "Or, if you would prefer, in order of introduction," she pointed first to herself and then to each team member in turn, "Silver Dragon, Kensai, Umbra, Pathwarden, Naiad, and Phasma."

"I guess that makes me 'Chopped Liver,' then" called the only remaining figure.

"Mr. Wayne," Callantha continued, "allow me, please, to present Kay Berger, a woman who consistently reminds the rest of us that wearing a costume is not a prerequisite to being a hero."

"In other words, I'm backstage crew. Cal, if you don't need me for anything, I'm going to study in the van."

"Go ahead." She looked at Bruce. "I'm sure my sisters have already thanked you, but please, let me add my gratitude. I'm in my first year of medicine and I froze." This last was given as an explanation, rather than an excuse, without a trace of defensiveness. Despite himself, that impressed him.

"You were lucky this time," he said sternly. "Next time—"

"Next time we'll deal with next time" she said firmly. "Alison's due back in four days. She's our regular medic. Also Jill's sister." She sighed. "I should see if Mr. Pennyworth needs any help. Can we pick this up afterwards?"

Before Bruce could answer, Alfred approached. "Four broken ribs, serious, but not critical blood loss, a hairline fracture of the left humerus, and various bruises and lacerations. Your friend should make a full recovery. It was necessary to sedate her, however. I would recommend that she remain here for at least one day, for observation."

Callie exhaled gratefully. "_Baruch HaShem_!" she exclaimed.

"She'll be okay?" Maybelle called out. "I'll tell Bron!"

Cal turned back to Bruce. "I think you were about to give me a lecture about how dangerous this sort of work is."

He raised an eyebrow. "How likely will it be to stop you?"

"Not very," she admitted. "But, if you feel you have to deliver it anyway, it looks like I have the time to listen, now."

Bruce frowned. "How long have you been operating?"

"I started Psion Force—that's what we call ourselves when we're not just 'the team'--twelve years ago. We trained for about two years, and then spent the next six working out of Toronto. We'd been living there since I was ten, so it just seemed natural to make it our base of operations. We've been in Gotham for the last four years. So that's a decade in the field, give-or-take a month or so."

Dick had been barely thirteen when he had started leading the Teen Titans, he thought. So, Callie would have been about that age when she had begun the team. To confirm, he asked, "You were fifteen when you started your night activities?"

"Twelve." She looked down. "We all developed our metahuman talents early. I was about nine when it got to the point that I couldn't explain mine away anymore. I tried to figure out what the best thing to do with my abilities was, and came up with two possibilities: this," she made a sweeping gesture with her right hand, "or the Psychic Friends Network. Somehow, even after twelve years to reconsider, this still feels more right. We're not in this for fame or glory—we're fully aware that there's no 'psi-signal' on the roof of GCPD headquarters," she added, alluding to the stylized Greek letter, which they all sported on their costumes. "But I can't believe we're meant to just waste these talents at carnivals or making late-night TV appearances." She spread her hands.

"So, go ahead. Tell us how we're flirting with disaster, how tonight should serve as a wake-up call, everything I'm going to tell myself later, and much more harshly. One of my best friends almost died tonight, and I don't know how I would have explained it to her family. But, Batman, she _didn't_ die. And in ten years doing what we do, this is the first time that she's had any injury worse than a torn ligament, or a pulled muscle, or some mild smoke inhalation. Either that's one heck of lucky streak, or she's doing something right."

"And the rest of you?" She was 'only' twenty-two. And she and her team had been operating longer than he had. Although their early years had been spent in far safer surroundings—Toronto had fewer crimes in a year than Gotham had in a month.

Callie didn't answer for a moment. "No serious injuries sustained while in costume." She paused again. "Shortly after you and Natalie met, Hindsight—my older sister, Bronwen—Bran's twin—she was working as a bike courier. She had a delivery to make to one of those shipping offices down by the docks. There was a warehouse fire nearby. A couple of kids were trapped inside. She didn't think twice—just went in and got them out, but the upper story," she closed her eyes, but her voice never wavered."It collapsed and she was trapped under it. Emergency crews got her out, but now she has pins in her hip, and there were other issues, from which, _Baruch HaShem_, she has recovered. Mostly. We used to take turns working dispatch. Most nights, now, she takes that on. She's adjusted.

She exhaled. "I think the only reason I've told you this is because I'd rather you didn't know it, and I think you'd rather we didn't know about you. Secret for secret. But we'll be out again tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that." She met his eyes squarely. "Just like you would be if it was one of your people on the disabled list. And you _don't_ have our advantages. So if despite that, you're still out there night after night—how can you blame us for having the same dedication?"

"I don't blame you," he said after a moment's hesitation. "But I can't condone what you're doing, either.

Callie shrugged her shoulders. "Fair enough. Not that we really need your approval. It would have been a nice thing to have, though."

"Cal?" Pathwarden interrupted. "I need to make _shacharis_. If Jill's OK, maybe one of us should stick around, and the rest head back?"

"Sounds like a plan," Callie agreed. "I'll stay." She looked around. "The rest of you, pile in."

Maybelle frowned. "She's _my _best friend. How come you get to stay?"

"Leader's prerogative. That and I don't have an orchestra rehearsal at nine-thirty sharp. Go home, have breakfast, and keep that appointment. Call me later."

Maybelle nodded her acknowledgement, not looking pleased.

Bruce asked, "What was that word he used? Shakris?"

"_Shacharis._ Morning Prayers. He needs to get to a synagogue."

"And the rest of you?"

"To make it short and over-simplified, men need a quorum of ten to pray. Women don't. For that reason, most women don't go to services during the week. Personally, I've been praying since I arrived on the scene of the accident."

"How will you get back?"

Cal shrugged again. "Run, maybe. I'm not exactly the Flash, but I was on the track team in high school, and I've done a couple of marathons." She paused for a moment, debating whether to go further. Then she sighed. "In for a penny, in for a pound. I'm also telekinetic. Levitation is tricky when you don't want to be seen, but it's doable. Teleporting is not really advisable. My range is limited, and I really need to see where I'm going."

Bruce frowned. "How many abilities do you have?"

"Metahuman talents, you mean?" She asked coolly, "I have three, but they sound a lot more impressive than they actually are. Strongest is my telekinesis. I can only lift about one-and-a-half times my own weight, but what I call my mental fine-motor skills are great. Theoretically, I could move protons into—or out of—an atom's nucleus. In practice, I need to work proton by proton, and it takes about an hour to do twelve. Next, I'm a low- level telepath. I can communicate with other telepaths across great distances, but otherwise, I need to create a mental link with the person first. If you're worried about my control, there are a few defenses anyone could learn—I'd be happy to teach them to you. Finally, there's my teleportation. Like I said, I need to see where I'm going. I've never been able to shift more than twenty meters at a time. It also makes me feel like I've just come off a very fast roller coaster, so I've learned not to eat first...

"Hey!" Tabitha strode up to her. "Can I have a word? In private?"

Callie glanced at her sister, then at Bruce. "Could you excuse me one moment, please? They need to get underway fairly quickly."

"Yes," agreed Tabitha. "We do."

Palming a listening device, Bruce touched Cal's shoulder, briefly. She stiffened. Tabitha's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. "I have some things I was taking care of when you came. We'll continue this afterwards."

He walked off toward his computers. Once seated at the mainframe, he slipped on a pair of headphones, so that he could listen to the conversation.

"Someone forgot about her ten o'clock anatomy class," Tabitha was saying, "didn't she?"

"No," Cal replied through clenched teeth, "someone forgot that her baby sister knows her schedule. That course is straight memorization. I can miss it."

"And Maybelle can't miss one orchestra session?"

"An orchestra is a team. They depend on her. She can't let them down."

"_We're_ a team. Suppose the material you're missing today covers information you'll need tomorrow night. Or did you enjoy the later part of your watch this night? Or should that be morning?"

"We all have responsibilities," she said wearily. "If anyone's going to shirk them, it should be me."

"Excuse me, O fearless leader," Tabitha retorted, "but I seem to recall someone telling me once that 'if you can't be a good example, you'll just have to be a horrible warning.' Any ideas on who that might have been? And you're right, Cal, we've all got responsibilities. But I can afford to miss civics, French, and geography tomorrow. You have anatomy and microbiology. Trust me, those take priority. Oh, and Cal? Call me your 'baby sister' when you've got a bug on your shoulder one more time, and something unpleasant is going to happen to you. I haven't decided what yet, but you _know_ I've got a good imagination."

"Then, next time," Cal said, "I would suggest you deactivate the listening device before you ask me for a word 'in private.' Wouldn't you agree, Batman?"

There was no response. Cal reached behind her, plucked off the transceiver and held it at arm's length. "Do you need it back?" she asked.

"Gimme that!" Tabitha snapped, snatching it from her. "Maybe I can see how we can improve on our existing stuff."

"Fifth variant." Cal said. "_Fine, at puedes rester zdies, but al lui harceles, ponimayesh_?"

"_Yup, mevina_."

"_Y Tabitha, toui will tishaeri en la domye tonight—tishaynee. D'accord_?"

"_Harasho_."

The two walked over to where Jill lay on her cot. Bruce joined them. "Fifth variant?"

Callie smiled. "If you know you're going to be overheard, there's no reason to make it easy on the eavesdropper."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I gather you resorted to some sort of code?"

"After a fashion," Callie said. "Kay," she called, "could you toss out some civvies for Jill? We'll be underway as soon as Tabitha grabs what she needs.

"We're multilingual," Cal explained as Tabitha raced off in the direction of the van. "'Fifth variant' means that we alternate between five languages: English, Hebrew, Spanish, French and Russian. 'Sixth variant' throws in ASL. On most people, it works like tinfoil in radar—even if the person knows the languages, the quick switching usually causes an eavesdropper to miss a significant portion of what's being said. Also, there are no hard rules regarding grammar and syntax." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you have your tricks as well," she said. "Anyway, as you may have gathered, Tabitha's staying, I'm going. It's been good meeting you, but we really are in a bit of a hurry, right now. Would it be OK if I came back later in the afternoon, though?"

Bruce frowned, not entirely comfortable with the idea of these virtual strangers coming in and out of the cave. Under the circumstances, though, it was understandable that she would want to. Maybe they would be able to move Jill to one of the upstairs bedrooms. If it hadn't been for the fact that all of the medical equipment was kept in the cave, he would have had that done initially. Cal smiled self-consciously. "Sorry, I should have realized. We've only just met, and here we are forcing ourselves on you. I'd probably about as enthusiastic about the prospect as you are. Someone will need to relieve Tabitha around four o'clock this afternoon, though. I don't want her going more than 30 hours without sleep." She rolled her eyes. "That sounded a lot better in my head then out loud," she said frankly. "Look, Tabitha knows how to get in touch with me, and I'll give you my pager number, just in case. Let me know by three if you have a better idea." As she spoke, she whipped out a notepad and scribbled a telephone number down.

"Callie," Kay called, "don't make me blow this horn!"

Cal tore off the sheet of paper, hastily, and handed it to Bruce. He accepted it. "This discussion is not over," he told her.

Cal nodded. "No, I don't suppose it would be," she agreed before turning back to the van.

Tabitha phased out, carrying a large knapsack and a smaller satchel. "Later, Gator!" she called.

Kay gunned the motor. A moment later they were gone, leaving her behind.

* * *

A/N #1: "Negiya" means touching. Casual physical contact between members of the opposite sex who are not closely related is forbidden according to Orthodox Judaism. As Tabitha mentions, there are certain leniencies in effect when dealing with people unaware of this prohibition (e.g. handshakes).

A/N #2: Following is a translation of the conversation between Callie and Tabitha:

"Fine, you can stay here, but don't pester him. Understand?"

"Yup, I understand."

"And Tabitha, you're staying home tomorrow night—sleeping. Ok?"

"Fine."


	4. Chapter 3: Taking Measures

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan- fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing

* * *

A/N #1: After Bane, manor (and presumably, cave) security was enhanced. This takes place a bit earlier.

A/N #2: The fighting moves mentioned in this chapter are capoeira, a Brazilian martial art which is practiced today more as a game of skill then a mode of attack. That doesn't make a kick any less painful if you're on the receiving end of it.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Taking Measures**

Tabitha finished her morning prayers, closed her prayer book quietly, and kissed it before putting it away. She moved a swivel chair away from one of the cray consoles and pulled it over to Jill's cot. Sitting down, she pulled a cloth bag out of her knapsack, from which she extracted a square leather carry box and small velvet sack. She unfastened the clips on the box and raised the lid to reveal a series of throwing knives, each one sheathed in its own holder. Tabitha picked up the one at the far left, and removed a stack of polishing cloths and a whetstone from the velvet sack. Silently, she began to hone the blade.

Bruce watched her. Alfred had gone back upstairs a few minutes earlier, muttering something about getting breakfast. The girl had not said a word to either of them in the fifty-four minutes since the van had left. She had simply staked out a section of the cave and made herself comfortable. It wasn't even a large section. She wasn't badgering him with questions about his exploits or bragging about her own. She wasn't asking to join his crusade, nor was she demanding a chance to prove herself. If he hadn't been looking in her direction, he wouldn't even have realized that she was there. But of course, she was there—invading his privacy, knowing his secret—although that likely would not be a problem, he had to reflect. If Kensai had known about it for two years, and had not acted on the information, there was no reason to think that she—or the rest of Psion Force—would try now. Still, there was no way that he was going to leave her alone in the cave while he went to Wayne Enterprises. Lucius was going to have to manage without him. Then again, Lucius usually did.

He looked at Tabitha from time to time, as she worked. Occasionally, she met his gaze. When this happened, he saw a glint of humor flash and just as quickly vanish in her eyes. _Quiet_, he thought to himself, _but not shy_. Alfred returned, and set a large tray with several covered dishes down before him. Prominent on the tray was a fruit bowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow. While he usually did have a grapefruit in the morning—when he didn't skip breakfast—Alfred rarely brought down a full assortment. At Bruce's unspoken query Alfred flicked his eyes toward the girl. _Of course_, he realized. _If she kept kosher, then just about the only thing she would be able to eat in his house would be raw, uncut, fruits and vegetables. Trust Alfred to pick up on that._ He nodded his understanding. Alfred withdrew. Bruce went back to his computer, but he found himself watching Tabitha again, periodically. She worked swiftly, methodically, with a practiced ease. By the time she finished attending to her blades, applying stain remover to various spots on her costume, which evidently needed it, and spraying and polishing her boots, nearly two hours had elapsed. Only when she had refolded her costume, repackaged her knives, and replaced everything in her knapsack, did she extract a small tool case from her satchel, place the transmitter he'd planted on Callie on the work stand next to Jill's cot, and set the tool box down next to it.

"Hungry?" Bruce asked, finally tired of the silence.

"Not really," Tabitha looked up. Her eyes narrowed. "You must have cameras over every square inch of this place," she said. "Why did you even bother with this bug?"

He did not answer.

The girl met his glower levelly, held it for a moment and then threw up her hands in mock surrender and went back to her equipment. From her toolkit, she removed a miniature screwdriver. In short order, she had the bug disassembled. Clearing off another space on the table, she pulled her costume out of her knapsack again, and removed a device from a pocket in her uniform tunic. It was slightly larger than the bug. She disassembled that as well. Then she began to compare the two, piece by piece. Fifteen minutes later she looked up. "Oh, so that's why," she said aloud. "No offense taken, I'm pretty sure Cal would have done the same thing, but all the same, I think I'll just return this to you." She held up the homing beacon that had been incorporated into the bug. "Here," she said, smiling. "Catch." He caught it one-handed. "We'd like to keep a few secrets, if that's OK."

She was good; he thought grudgingly, he'd give her that. What had it cost her, though? She must have been in costume almost from the time that she could walk. How much of a childhood had she had?

"What are you doing?" he asked abruptly. She was scribbling furiously in a spiral notebook.

"Writing my report on last night's patrol. Callie's big on that kind of thing. Don't worry about this place, though. I'm off-duty, now." She hesitated. "I don't mean to be a pest, but I was wondering whether you have a gym or something. Normally, I work out for an hour or so before school, and I'm getting a little antsy."

He had to admit he was curious about her abilities. "Did you want a standard workout or a combat simulation?" He asked.

Tabitha smiled impishly. "Surprise me." She picked up her equipment. "Where can I change?"

He showed her. When she emerged a few minutes later, she wore a long tunic and leggings in a shade of purple she called 'dusty mauve'. A hooded brown cloak, secured by an ivory clasp with a black psi-symbol embossed upon it, fell fully to mid-calf. Her boots, belt and arm-guards were brown as well. Her gloves, mask and helmet were gray. The cloak parted as she walked, revealing a half-dozen knives in her belt. There were two more in each boot, and one more sheathed in each arm-guard. She still held her knapsack and satchel.

"You can leave that here, you know."

Umbra thought for a moment. "Cal told me not to bug you. If I do leave this behind," she began her tone suddenly more formal, "would you extend the same courtesy to me, to Jill, to our belongings, and to anything else which we—or any Psion Force member—might rightfully take with us when we leave?"

It took every iota of self-control not to smile. "You have my word."

Umbra nodded gravely. "Good enough for me." If he kept promises he made to mooks and stoolies, he'd keep this one too. And the buzz on the street was that the Batman never reneged on a deal.

* * *

Umbra entered the training room and found herself in Robinson Heights at night. _Holy Star Trek, Batman!_ the quip came to mind unbidden, _the man actually has a holodeck in the cave_. She squelched that thought. This was serious; she had to concentrate on the task at hand. It was like youth theatre—you wouldn't be in the performance if the audience wasn't out there, but you had to act as if they weren't. This scene, this simulation, was the only reality that could exist for the duration of the exercise, but she had to forget that Batman was observing her and that it was an exercise. "Thou shalt not grandstand," was one of Callie's cardinal rules—almost her Prime Directive, if you wanted to keep the Star Trek metaphor going.

If this was a pure hologram, she thought, nothing here should be solid. She slapped the wall of a brownstone experimentally and hit rough brick, cold, even through her glove. "Guess it's not a pure hologram," she muttered. Maybe later she could ask Batman for the specs on this setup. Sure, right after she asked him for his ATM PIN, the secret identities of the rest of the JLA and a letter of reference for the Teen Titans—Sheesh!

Umbraused her grapnel to propel herself to the roof of the three-story brownstone. From there, she withdrew to the shadows, making good use of every scrap of cover she could. Swiftly, silently, she moved from rooftop to rooftop, using her grapnel to gain altitude, and her cloak to slow her descent, as necessary. _Economy of motion_, she told herself. _Economy of style. Make every move count._ _Grandstanding costs. Grandstanding_ kills. She had covered about ten blocks, and reached a seven-story low-rise when she heard sounds of battle further west of her position. _Showtime_ she thought to herself, then winced at the cliché. She sped up, covering the necessary distance in minutes.

She dropped to a fire escape a half-story below. There was a muffled bang as her boots hit the metal slats, but from her current height, nobody heard. In the alley below, she saw five youths--two in Loboys and three in Street Demonz jackets. Turf war. Joy. _Probably do everyone a favor if I let them kill each other_, she thought, as she secured her line to the railing. _Sometimes I really hate being one of the good guys._ She calculated her leap accurately, and executed a double somersault, landing at the mouth of the alley, about twenty feet from the gang members. It took a moment before one of them, a beefy boy in Demonz colors wielding a set of nunchukus, noticed her.

"You know, Michelangelo, if you're not careful with those, you're gonna take out an eye," she said lightly.

All other fighting stopped. Smirking, 'Michelangelo' took a step toward her. "Maybe," he leered. "Maybe one of yours, Mama."

"If I was _your_ mama, I'd have drowned you at birth," she retorted. "Guess yours wasn't smart enough."

The boy let loose a furious bellow. "You gonna pay for that, skank!" Dropping his nunchukus, he charged headlong toward her. "Gonna rip you 'part with my bare hands." Umbra sidestepped and countered with a _martelo_ kick-and-punch combination. Michelangelo dropped as if he had been pole axed, thanks to her steel-toed boots.

"Moron," she said as she fastened a plastic tie about his wrists. "Those nun-chaks were the only thing you had going for you."

It took the rest of the gang members about thirty seconds to process what had just happened. Then the other four of them came at her at once. Umbra noted, detached, that two were Loboys, two Demonz. _Nothing like a common threat to get these creeps to unite_, she thought as she executed a _queixada_, kicking outward in a semi-circle while pivoting on her other leg. Two more went down. Completing the move, she whipped out one of her knives and threw it. It buried itself to the hilt in one of the Loboys' thighs. He collapsed with a gasp. The remaining boy in Demonz colors tried to escape by scaling the chain-link fence at the other end of the alley. As he hoisted his upper body above the top of the fence, a well-aimed bola brought him down. She made sure that the plastic ties were secure, and bound the boys' ankles for good measure. Then she walked up to the Loboy who had taken the knife wound. "You're wearing a bandana," she said softly, pulling the red square of fabric off his head. "That's lucky for you." She bent down and knotted the cloth tightly about his thigh, above the knife. "Try anything—and I do mean _anything_—and I'll take this off and let you bleed to death." She grasped the knife by the handle and yanked it free, eliciting a suppressed scream and a stream of blood from the older boy. Taking a fresh knife, she deftly cut one sleeve off the boy's jacket, folded it into a packet, and pressed it to the wound. "I tied your hands in front of you for a reason," she said, not unkindly. "Keep holding it like that 'till a doctor looks at you." She picked up the nunchukus, fired off her grapnel and took to the rooftops.

A gunshot in the park drew her attention, moments later. This was going to be harder, she realized as she assessed the situation. There were non- combatants around. _Russian Mafia—didn't I just tangle with these clowns last night?_

"You again!" one exclaimed

_Guess that answers that question. Cute, Mr. Wayne, real cute_. Resigned, she executed a combination of capoeira, kickboxing, and hapkido. It was actually helping that they were concentrating on her, she realized as she blended moves from other martial arts. It enabled her to draw the fight away from the civilians. A few had run, but enough idiots were enjoying the show that she still didn't dare to try phasing through the bullets. If they passed through her and hit someone else in the line of trajectory, that would be her fault. That left her intercepting the ammo with the only parts of her costume that were bulletproof—helmet, arm-guards, and boot- soles. Finally, they stopped firing long enough for her to concentrate. Instantly, intangible guns dropped through suddenly slack fingers. They solidified before they hit the ground, but she kept the bullets phased. Things turned around noticeably after that. It was harder, there was no question that it was harder, she thought as she subdued the gunmen, but given the time to focus, it was possible for her to phase an object without actually holding on to it.

Locating a public phone, she called GCPD for a pickup, and then returned to the rooftops. Fifteen minutes later, she found herself in a completely empty room, with wall floor and ceiling paneled in black. Yellow gridlines surrounded each rectangular panel. _Holodeck,_ _alright_, she thought to herself, resisting the urge to say "Computer: Arch!"

Bruce opened the door behind her. "Come," he said. Umbra followed him out of the room.

* * *

"How's Jill?" she asked.

"The same."

She nodded. "No better but no worse. Okay. I think I could use something to eat, actually, if that offer still stands." Her eyes lit up as she saw the fruit bowl. "Thanks, this is great," she said taking a banana and pausing to murmur a blessing before biting in.

"You're still not going to ask," he said after a moment.

"Sorry?"

"You know that what you went through was as much an evaluation as it was a workout, and you're not going to ask how you scored."

Tabitha faced him. "If you want to tell me, you will, whether or not I want to hear it. And if you don't, you won't—no matter how much I plead. An eleven-year-old girl doesn't make it to age fifteen in a costume in this city if she doesn't have some skills, so I know I'm good—"

Bruce cut her off. "Yes. You are. But you could be better."

Tabitha closed her mouth. He had her full attention.

He continued. "I don't generally see a lot of capoeira. What I saw on the monitors was impressive. Your hapkido needs more work, though. You have a red belt?"

"Yes, that's right."

"You should have a black one. What's your level in karate?"

"Brown."

"Judo?"

"Brown."

"Ninjitsu?"

"Red."

His eyes narrowed. "How long?"

"Year-and-a-half."

"Aikido?"

"Black."

"Good. You should have used it more. Kung Fu?"

"None. "

_Just like Silver Dragon_, he thought with amazement. _No excuses, no defensiveness. Just an answer to a question_. "I can give you a few names," he said after a moment. "Is there any reason why you kept trying to draw unfriendly fire to your head?"

"Because I can't find Kevlar at Fabricland. The helmet happens to be one of the few parts of the costume that can handle a bullet at anything but point- blank range."

"If you could phase the guns, why didn't you phase the bullets they were firing at you?"

"They were moving too fast. I need time to focus." At his silence, Tabitha remarked, "Look, just because I've got a metahuman talent, it doesn't exactly make me Supergirl, here. I do okay, though."

"Are you satisfied with that?"

"No," she replied seriously. "But I'm better now then I was last year, and next year, G-d willing, I'll be better still. I would appreciate those names, though. So, what's my final grade?"

"You've met Batgirl?"

"No. I've seen her in action a couple of times."

"You're about half-way between where she is and where Robin is." For the first time all morning, a full smile appeared on his face. His tone, however, remained serious. "If this is really what you want, do not allow yourself to grow complacent. You're right. You are good. But you have it in you to be great."

Tabitha's eyes widened. "Thank-you!" she exclaimed, making a supreme effort not to squeal. Batman actually thought well of her! A cynical voice in her mind noted dryly that if she weren't interested in his approval, she wouldn't be so affected by his praise. Still, this was the first time that someone outside of the team had evaluated her and, she had passed. Maybe it wasn't a high pass, but it wasn't a fail. She finished the banana and quickly recited the after-blessing.

She realized then that she was sweaty, and itchy, and more than a little tired. "I really hate to be a pest," she said, "but is there any way that I could take a shower? I could use one."

"Upstairs," he said. "Alfred will show you where."

"Thanks."

She pulled off her helmet, started to head upstairs, then turned back. "You weren't trying to—go easy on me, were you? I mean, I've been in tighter spots than what you put me through in there."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You had a fifteen-minute warm-up, twenty minutes high-intensity cardio-vascular, ten minutes cool-down, another twenty minutes aerobic, and a fifteen minute cool-down. If you'd wanted a combat scenario, you should have said so."

Tabitha grinned. "You're right. But—I mean—come ON, the guy dropped his weapon. How often does that sort of thing really happen?"

Bruce didn't answer.

Tabitha considered. "Okay, you're right, it does happen too much. But why give me that kind of break in a simulation?"

"I needed to verify certain aspects of your abilities. You needed exercise. Again, this was a workout not a combat simulation."

Tabitha sighed mentally. She knew he was goading her. Callie would have risen above it. _Too bad. I'm not Callie_. She pulled her helmet  
back on. "Then let's have the combat simulation," she demanded, her blue eyes suddenly as implacable as his own.


	5. Chapter 4: Maginot lines drawn & crossed

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan- fic are, of course, DC's. A Separate Peace, by John Knowles, is an actual novel. In the Bantam/Doubleday/Dell edition published 1985, the quote, which I have used, appears on page 208. It is being used without the permission of the publisher. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing

* * *

A/N: If anyone out there has a canon source for the date of the Wayne murders, please email me at In the absence of such a source, I've picked a date arbitrarily. 

A/N: Special thanks to gothamnights. for the great map. Without it, I wouldn't know what areas of Gotham surround Crime Alley.

A/N: I'm not a doctor. I have no idea what sedative would typically be administered in the situation described below. If anyone has a better suggestion than Valium, please email me at the address in my profile. I really do try to get the pesky little details right.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Maginot Lines Drawn and Crossed**

Tabitha had finally left him alone in the cave and gone upstairs to have her shower. He had put her through a basic no-win scenario---the computer creating opponents of increasing difficulty, until the subject was overwhelmed and subdued. It had taken almost forty-five minutes for that to happen. She was that good. Much as it rankled him to admit it.

He exchanged his bathrobe and sweats for a costume and put himself through an advanced combat routine. After using the cave facilities to shower, he donned a fresh costume, leaving off the gloves, cape and cowl, and pulled the robe over it.

Returning to the computer, he attempted a background check on the Aaronson clan. The details, when they came, posed more questions than they answered. The children had been born in Whitehorse, in Canada's northern Yukon Territory. The Jewish presence in that area had to be miniscule if it even existed. Their father had died in the Sudan, but there were no details on how, or why. There was a three-year gap between the last record of their living in Whitehorse and the first record of their living in Toronto. Prior to that break in the pattern, the three eldest (and there was an older sister, Sophia, whom Callie had not mentioned) had gone to private non-denominational schools in Alberta, as had Maybelle. Callie, apparently, had not received any formal education until the age of ten, when she had been immediately placed into sixth grade. And, there was no mention anywhere of a legal guardian. It occurred to him that they might have falsified certain details as a safety measure, in case someone suspected their identities...

He blinked. That clinched his suspicion, because this next bit could not possibly be right. There was simply ... no way that Natalie Aaronson had been the recipient of her elementary school's basketball "team spirit award" from grades four through six. Callantha was plausible. But Natalie?

* * *

Tabitha came downstairs, stepping just slightly more noisily than was necessary. "Find what you were looking for?" She asked, from midway down the steps. At that angle, there was no way that she could see the data display on the screen. 

He did not reply at once. Tabitha shrugged. "Cal used to try the silent treatment on me, too," she said. "After all this time, I think I'm immune." She joined him at the console. "Oh. That's ... us. Should I be flattered, or nervous?"

"There are anomalies," he said quietly.

Tabitha clasped her hands behind her back. "Such as?"

Silence

She cocked her head. "Okay, at what point did you get the impression that I didn't want to discuss things? Look, if there's anything I can clear up, now's your chance."

"How old were you when you first started this?"

"Working nights?" Her lips curved in a sardonic smile. "I was five. And, looking back, I'd have to say that I was very, very, lucky."

"Silver Dragon sent an infant—"

Tabitha's blue eyes flashed. "_Watch it_!" she snapped. "Telling a person she looks younger than she is only becomes a compliment after age 30." When he didn't answer, she continued in a milder tone. "The truth is, at first, Callie tried to leave me home with a sitter. But, she was dealing with a person who walks through walls---not to mention locked doors, windows, trees, and most other substances you can name. I found ways to be in earshot when she was discussing strategy, and then I'd follow any way I could. Later on, she realized that she was expecting me to put in an appearance, and trying to account for that in her planning. After that, it just got easier to include me. And there weren't any sitters freaking out when I disappeared. And, given that when I'm intangible, I don't get hurt easily, it wasn't really that risky. Also, please, remember she was twelve at the time, and five didn't seem as young to her then as it would now."

"And who looked after you at that time?" he shot back. "Do you expect me to believe that she was your legal guardian from the age of... ten? _Seven_?"

Tabitha frowned. "We're getting into a tricky area," she admitted frankly. "See, anything to do with me, I'm free to talk about, or not. You're asking me, though, for info on the rest of the team, and some of that is--- personal. I can't get into it. What I can say is, that Callie is not now, nor never has been my legal guardian. She is my big sister, my leader, and, really, the only mother I've ever known. She's been raising me since I was three, and she was ten. I know there's a three-year gap. That's one of the things I don't think I can go into. We both know it's there, but please, let's just leave it for now. In the long run, does it really matter whether she was seven or ten? It was too young, you, me, she, the rest of the team, and Mrs. Berger know it, but it happened—let's move on."

"Did she use telepathy to keep people from asking questions?"

Tabitha jerked her head up angrily. "How_dare_ you?" she exclaimed, in a voice no less intense for all it was controlled.

"It's the only explanation that would make sense. Isn't it?"

"No!" The fury in her eyes was genuine.

"Tabitha," he said inexorably, "she was ten. I've checked the birth records on all of you. Even Sophia wasn't more than fourteen at the time. Yet somehow, you managed to secure living accommodations, attend school, pay bills. You lived in Toronto for eight years. And nobody wondered why they never saw any adults? Nobody asked why your parents never came for teacher conferences? Explain."

* * *

_Tabitha is three. She is wearing her best blue dress, even if nobody can see it because she's wearing a snowsuit over it. The skirt is uncomfortably bunched up in her leggings. It's really too warm to be wearing a snowsuit in April in Toronto, but it was colder when they got on the bus from Whitehorse to Edmonton. And she has slept for the better part of the two-day train ride from Edmonton to Toronto. Callie hasn't wanted to take the leggings of the snowsuit off, because she can't quite believe that it would be warm enough for that this early in the year. Tabitha clasps her green-mittened hands around Callie's leg, and peeps out from behind her sister's plaid skirt at the lady before them._

_"So," Sophie is saying, nervously, "we don't have anywhere else to go, and since Dad actually owned this building, I—We—well we'd like to stay together, and we're quiet, and if there's an apartment nobody's using, please..."_

_Callie interrupts. "No foster home is going to take on all seven of us kids," she says bluntly. "You know it. We've been split up for years—boarding schools and so on. But now, we're all we've got. Anyway, we own this place, or we will once Sophia turns eighteen. Let us stay in one of the vacant units, and I promise you, if there are any complaints, you can kick us out, or call Child Services, whatever you have to." It's a big chance Callie's taking. Tabitha doesn't fully understand what's happening, but she knows her big sister is frightened. Her big sister has never been frightened of anything before. Well, not before a few days ago, anyhow, she thinks. She twists her head to look at Natalie, but Natalie stares at the ground. Natalie hasn't spoken in almost two weeks—not since that morning when everything changed. Tabitha doesn't like to think about how everything changed. But suddenly, she has a new brother and three new sisters, all of them older than she is. They've been away, but now they're home. Or so they say. But this isn't home._

_The lady is asking about money, and Sophie is talking about something that sounds like 'trust fun an-ta-rust'. What does it mean: trust fun? Trust fun, rust fun—rust is no fun—you have to be careful not to step on a rusty nail in Daddy-Ben's workshop, or Callie says, your foot'll turn green and Daddy-Ben'll have to saw it off. Callie always called them Daddy-Ben, and Mummy-Tamara never just Daddy and Mummy, like Tabitha and Natalie do. She doesn't remember what the others called them--she barely knows them._

_Sophie is handing over a notepad to the lady. "I think we can make it work, if I did the math right," she says. "Mr. Markovitch arranged for the interest to be automatically transferred to our personal bank accounts each month, so we have access to that, at least." Her hand is shaking as the lady takes it from her. Tabitha has heard her talking things over with Callie the night before they left Whitehorse, talking about what different things cost, writing things down, crossing them out. Big sisters always know what to do—don't they? Up to this very minute, she knew that Callie did, but now, she's not sure._

_Callie advances, seemingly oblivious to Tabitha's death-grip on her leg, but then a hand reaches down to cup the back of the tiny girl's head. At the same time, Tabitha sees Callie's other arm encircle Natalie's shoulder. "Please," she says softly. "Let us try this. With the interest from our trust fund, and a roof over our heads, we should be able to manage. If it doesn't work," she swallows, "we won't run. You can call whoever you want. But give us a few days. Let us try," she repeats, softly._

_The lady thinks forever. Finally she says, "Well, we'll talk this over in the morning. For now, your father did keep one unit available for his personal use. Since your mother never authorized its rental, it's empty right now, so I suppose, you children can sleep there tonight."_

_The sighs of relief are palpable. Callie hoists Natalie over one shoulder. "Thank-you Mrs. Berger!"_

_"Don't thank me, yet," she says sternly, but not unkindly. "This is a trial period only._

_"Kay!" she calls behind her._

_A girl about Sophie's age comes to the doorway. She has Mrs. Berger's brown eyes and hair. She smiles warmly. "Hello."_

_"This is my daughter, Kay," Mrs. Berger says. "Kay, these are Mr. Aaronson's children. They'll be staying in his apartment for now. Why don't you show them up?"_

_Kay grins as she accepts the key from her mother. "I always wanted to see inside the penthouse." She hunches over, curving her arms outward and bending her knees forward. "Pliz to valk theees vay," she hisses in a faux- Eastern European accent._

_Brandon snickers, and slouches after her. Maybelle rolls her eyes, and follows suit. The others exchange glances, and turn in that direction, but do not slouch._

_"You straighten yourself up, right now, young lady," Mrs. Berger orders. Her voice snaps, but Tabitha can tell that she's not really angry. Callie hoists Tabitha over her other shoulder, grunting a little, but making no other complaint and they follow Kay to the elevator.

* * *

_

"Callie always told us not to get into trouble," Tabitha continued. "Not to do anything that might get the principal calling home for a conference. Mrs. Berger signed our report cards, always with a note saying that our mother was away for an extended period of time, and that in case of emergency, they could call her. It wasn't really a lie," she added. "Three years-plus is pretty extended in anybody's book. Anyway, once Sophie turned eighteen, it got a lot easier."

"Where is she, now?" he asked. "Sophie?"

"My guess would be on the 51st floor of Wayne Enterprises. She works in your finance department. You'll find her listed under Sophia Cardozo. She took a temporary leave of absence from all of this stuff when she got married. It became permanent ten months later when my nephew was born. He's almost three, now." She grinned. "Guess I can tell her that if she misses a few days without an excuse, her CEO might actually accept 'abducted by interstellar pirates,' at face value."

"I wouldn't," Bruce said flatly. "Who are 'Daddy-Ben' and 'Mummy-Tamara'?"

"Classified. Sorry, you'll have to dig that up yourself. But getting back, Callie's talent doesn't work that way. She can read minds, yes, and she can project her thoughts, but she can't force someone to do something they don't want to, and definitely not long-term. I mean, she could maybe force you to treat us to ice cream today, but she wouldn't be able to make you deliver two gallons of Neapolitan every week for the next five years. Once she relaxes her concentration, the compulsion is gone. That's today. Twelve years ago, what you suggested would have been even harder. So, no. No, Callie did not use her telepathy to keep people from noticing things. She couldn't have. I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that, but if you had any idea how hard she tries to avoid being in a position where she could even be suspected of that kind of thing, you'd know how offensive a question like that was."

Bruce didn't answer.

"You know, most people would apologize, about now."

Silence.

"Fine, be that way," she sighed. She returned to her knapsack and pulled out a copy of _A Separate Peace_, a wire-bound exercise book, and a ballpoint pen. "You ever have to read this?" She asked.

"No."

"Cal says everything is a learning experience, even if the only thing you're learning is what not to do. I love this last line," she added. "All of them, all except Phinneas, constructed at infinite costs to themselves, these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way, if he ever attacked at all, if indeed he was the enemy." She smiled ruefully. "Words to live by, especially out in the field. Now, if I can just discuss that in a 750-word essay. Why do teachers always have to over-analyze perfectly good novels?"

"Problem?"

"Well, yes and no. I mean, I can write, completely off-the-cuff, breakneck speed, no real effort, five true-life examples of how that phrase can be applied to situations outside the novel. Unfortunately, they all involve capoeira, air walking, and knife throwing. Sometimes I wish I didn't know half the things I do." She shook her head and continued softly.

"Sometimes, I wish my homeroom teacher hadn't asked us to complete local history projects on the historic neighborhoods of Gotham. Because if she hadn't, I probably wouldn't have known why Natalie was so sure coming here would be safer than going to a hospital." She took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy, but if she didn't clear it up, of course he was going to blame Natalie for revealing his secret. _Okay, Cal, I'll own up and take my lumps, just like you taught me._ She continued. "I was the one who blurted out your identity — Natalie would have let Jill end up in a hospital, and our photos end up in the tabloids, before she'd blab, unless she was sure there was no other way to save a life."

Bruce looked up, but said nothing. He didn't have to. It was painfully obvious which neighborhood she had covered for her project.

Tabitha toyed with her pen, absently pressing the top to extend and retract the ballpoint tip. "I picked Park Row," she confirmed. "I did a pretty good job, looking up old newspaper stories, pictures. Obviously, the single incident that generated the most copy ink was..."

"You can say it," he said tersely when her voice trailed off.

"I don't really have to, do I?" she asked. "So, I read the articles, the opinions and editorials. And I handed in the project. It was due on November 16th."

Three days before his parents' murder.

"On November 19th," she continued, "I started out patrolling the Victoria Place Industrial Park. After a couple of quiet hours, I thought I'd head over to Manchester. I think, gosh it's all coming back. I think Pathwarden was staking out the Van Dyke Gallery. And then, I realized that I was cutting pretty close to Crime Alley. With all the reading I'd done on the place in the last month, I'd never actually checked it out. So, I took the aerial approach, and headed over.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I saw you down there, in costume, with two roses. And all of my research was just too fresh in my mind. I had to draw that conclusion. It didn't feel right to intrude, so I headed off. Maybe, I should have joined you at ground level, but it just seemed like the wrong time to introduce myself. Anyway, I thought I should tell you."

Silence. She hadn't mentioned---she hadn't HAD to mention that she'd seen him kneeling on the filthy pavement, pounding his fists on the ground—the one night of the year when he really allowed himself to grieve openly---if you could call visiting that site in full bat regalia in the dark of night 'openly.'

"Right," Tabitha said after a moment. She returned to her homework. Bruce had moved the fruit bowl over to the workspace she had claimed as her own. Tabitha absently murmured a blessing as she reached for a cluster of grapes, plucking them off their vine with one hand while writing with the other. After twenty minutes of furious scribbling, she laid the pen down. What she had would do for now, she could flesh it out later.

"How's your friend?" Bruce asked.

Tabitha looked down. She smiled. "Coming around, I think. Look."

Bruce strode over. Positioning himself at the head of the cot, he asked "Wasn't she---blonde before?"

Tabitha's smile grew broader. "Yep. If she's casting illusions, that sedative must be nearly out of her system by now. I'd say she's definitely coming out of this."

As if in response, the girl on the bed, now a frizzy-haired brunette, mumbled something unintelligible.

"Jill?" Tabitha asked.

"Ga—uhhnnhh..." came the groaned response. The hair returned to blonde but now appeared short and spiky. Her skin took on a mint-green tint.

Bruce frowned. "Does this happen all the time?"

"No," Tabitha replied. "What sort of painkiller is she on?"

Bruce told her.

Tabitha nodded slowly. "The sedative that Mr. Pennyworth gave her---it wouldn't by any chance have been Valium, or something from that family, would it?"

"Low dosage," he confirmed.

Tabitha sighed. "It's really harmless, more awkward than dangerous, but yep, combining those types of medications can temporarily weaken her control. At least, it can when she's semi-conscious. Hence, these involuntary physical changes. Once she's fully awake, she'll be able to reassert her defenses. It looks a lot more serious than it is."

As if on cue, Jill opened her eyes. Simultaneously, her hair returned to its normal, shoulder-length, straight honey-blond. Her skin reverted to its regular peach tones as well. She looked at Tabitha. Her eyes then darted over to take in her surroundings. Seeing the stalactites, and reddish stone walls, her lips quirked upward. "I'm alone in here with you?" she asked humorously. "This must be Hell... lo!" she exclaimed as Bruce moved into her field of vision. Bracing her palms on the mattress, she attempted to lever herself into a sitting position, but gave up, gasping, as her ribs made their condition known. "I'm Jill," she introduced herself. "Jill Perkal."

"Bruce Wayne," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

Jill grinned. "I'm alright, except for the constant pain. Ow!"

"If it hurts when you try to sit up, girl..." Tabitha broke in--

"...Don't sit up!" Jill chimed.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Bruce asked.

Jill hesitated. "Not to talk to strangers," she said softly. "Where am I? This isn't a hospital." She looked around again, confused. "Tabitha, is this place OK?"

Tabitha glanced at Bruce. "Depends on what you mean by OK. But it's safe to talk freely. He knows."

Jill nodded. "Amusement Mile. I think I was fighting with a wrecking crane. Ooohpf! I think it won."

"Well," Tabitha said, "you know what they say. Whether the wrecking ball hits the ribcage or the ribcage hits the wrecking ball..."

"It's going to be bad for the ribcage," Jill finished. "Tell Callie I want a suit of armor. A nice shiny one."

"I think we could improvise," Tabitha suggested. "Maybe if I take a blowtorch to a trashcan, and make some holes for your head and arms."

Jill groaned. "No fair making me laugh, when the painkillers are wearing off." Her eyes flicked to Bruce, then back to Tabitha. "You sure we can trust him?"

"You sure you can trust ME?" Tabitha countered. At Jill's exasperated sigh, she relented. "Yes. Completely," she said, eyeing Bruce meaningfully.

"Okay," Jill said. "Here's hoping I don't regret this, but if you already know some things about us, then let's start over." She smiled at Bruce. "Hi, I'm Phasma."

Bruce hesitated, only for a moment. There really was no need for secrecy. If she didn't find out from him, now, she would probably find out from her teammates later. Slowly, he brought his hands to the neckline of his bathrobe, and pulled it aside, enough to reveal the bat symbol on the suit underneath.

Jill's eyes widened. "Thank-you," she said gravely. "It's a real honor." And she smiled again.


	6. Chapter 5: Aftermath

Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan- fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit. 

Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing

* * *

**Chapter 5: Aftermath**

_Six weeks later..._

Pathwarden examined the mud at the construction site. The light emanating from the palm of his hand was faint, but illuminated the ground enough for him to see what he was doing. Kensai waited. "In there," he said pointing toward the portable done up to look like a sample unit in the condo-to-be. "Four of them came this way. You think you can get in the back window?"

Kensai shook her head. "Too tight a fit. There are another two inside. How about I take the frontal approach, and you 'lase' a door somewhere else?"

"Two more? They were wearing work boots, then. Interesting. No, lasing'll take too long." He thought for a moment. "You go in first. Soften them up. I'll follow in five." He exhaled. "This makes me long for the good old days when you could wedge yourself through an eleven-inch square air vent."

Kensai grimaced. "The good old days where they took one look at the first-grader lisping out "drop thoth gunth or I'll hafta hurt you," and practically killed themselves laughing?"

"Right up until you punched them in an area... erhmm... below the belt."

"I was barely three feet tall," she protested. "How much higher do you think I could have reached? Anyway, those days are long gone. Ok, plan B looks like a winner. When you come in, photons blazing, just remember, I jump, I climb, I swing. You aiming high will not necessarily keep me safe, so take extra care you don't zap me."

"Or you'll 'hafta hurt me?"

Kensai pretended to think it over. "No, I'll just tell Umbra."

Pathwarden gulped theatrically.

Kensai paused a beat, before continuing. "At a time and place when Silver Dragon is sure to overhear." She almost regretted adding that last---it was just plain overkill.

Pathwarden groaned. "Why don't you just tell the big bad bat while you're at it?"

Natalie held up five fingers. "_Shine zarkorcha cinquenta degres navastok, and tir'eh porque pas, brat. And ta'aseh mas brillante, ya don't ohevet mas des shpionuie_."

Realization dawned in his eyes. Pathwarden immediately intensified the beam emanating from his palm as he whirled fifty degrees eastward to illuminate a familiar figure, standing several feet away.

Kensai half-smiled, as Batman squinted in the sudden light. _Right, night-vision goggles had their disadvantages_. "Telepaths don't surprise easy," she remarked, keeping her tone deliberately neutral. "Especially not a second time. Anything we can help you with?"

In answer, Batman gestured toward the portable. Pathwarden's jaw dropped. "Seriously? You're really asking for our help?"

"You offered. I accepted. If you were able to track the thieves this far, this soon ..."

"It's what I do," the younger man said quietly.

Batman filed the statement away for future reference. Pathwarden was evidently able to manipulate light, perhaps even create it. Assuming that the conversation he had just overheard had been fact, and not hyperbole, Kensai's older brother could also produce laser beams and photons. Yet, he was deliberately downplaying that area of his skill-set. Interesting.

Kensai spoke up. "Our intel has the four suspects from that safety deposit box break-in from night before last at First Gotham S&L holed up in there. No data on weaponry, but Pathwarden had a look at the scene and learned a few things."

"I guess you overheard about the two extra," Pathwarden continued. "I've found a few shell casings consistent with those used for M-16 rifles over yonder-ways. Looks like they were practicing, and, since there've been no reports of noise disturbances in this area it would seem to point to the use of silencers."

Upon hearing "yonder-ways," Kensai had begun to hum the Beverly Hillbillies theme, softly. Her older brother ignored her. Batman glared, and she stopped.

"That dovetails with the witness report," continued Pathwarden, "but then you already know that because you're Batman, and you weren't tailing us when you came out here, so why on earth am I wasting my time boring you with things you already know?" His voice had become higher as he spoke, ending on a plaintive note, which stopped a hairsbreadth from turning into a full-fledged whine.

Kensai poked him in the ribs. "Be good," she scolded. Turning to Batman she asked, "Are you carrying tear gas, by any chance?"

"No."

She sighed. "Neither are we. The only access point is too narrow for more than one person to enter at once. They've barricaded some of the heavier display furniture against the emergency fire exit. The front door is being blocked by a little guy with a big gun---well 'little' for you, anyway."

Pathwarden poked back. "No need to state the obvious, Frodo."

"_Frodo_?" She repeated in disbelief. "Can't you at least call me by a girl hobbit's name?"

"The only girl hobbits I can remember from LOTR are boring Rosie Cotton and annoying Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. You want I should call you by either of those, or you want to thank me for calling you Frodo?"

"Enough," Batman said. He pointed to Kensai. "You," he said, "go in first. Keep them occupied so they're focused on you, not the doorway. Alert your brother telepathically when you have. He pointed to Pathwarden. "Once she signals, you go in, I'll intercept anyone fleeing the scene."

Kensai nodded curtly, instantly professional. She moved off at an easy lope, swift, sure, and silent, toward the structure. Pathwarden turned to Batman. "I tend to bring out the worst in her. Banter and silliness aside, she's really very good at this sort of thing."

"I know." He hadn't forgotten the break-and-enter at Precision Electronics, two years ago, nor how she had transformed from a scared kid on a rooftop to a seasoned fighter in the blink of an eye.

"How's Phasma?"

"Better. The bandages came off last week. Sil wants her retraining for another week or so before she returns to active duty." He smiled. "I've missed her."

Batman grunted. "Kensai," he said after a moment, "the meaning of the name-- "

"It's a sort of Japanese warrior."

Batman favored him with a glower. "Usually devoted exclusively to one weapon. The few times I've watched your sister, she's seemed more—diversified."

Pathwarden exhaled. "There's a story of a man walking along the road, and he sees a fence with bulls-eyes painted on it. And right smack dead centre in the middle of each bulls-eye, and I do mean each and every bulls-eye, there's an arrow. Man can't believe his eyes. As he comes to the last target, he sees a kid, maybe ten or eleven with a bow and an empty quiver. Goes up to the kid and asks him if he's the one shot all those arrows. When the kid confirms it, the man says to the kid 'that's fantastic! What's your secret?' Kid says to the man, 'first I shoot my arrows at the fence ...and then I paint the bulls-eyes!'

"My kid sister found out that, technically, you don't necessarily have to be Kensai to a weapon—you can also be Kensai to a martial art discipline, or a body part. She decided to be Kensai to her judgment. And if she judges that she should be using her dagger, or her hapkido, or her telepathy, well, isn't she just—"

"Using her chosen proficiency."

"Bingo. I guess, end of the day," he paused, "night, day, whatever," she gets results. Matter of fact," he said, unsheathing a curved saber, "she's just gotten some. We're on."

He would have moved off, but for the blue-gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "That," Batman said grimly, "looks lethal."

"I don't kill," Pathwarden replied, evenly "though I'd rather you didn't tell the mooks. C'mon. If we don't step on it, there won't be any of them left for us."

Pathwarden had not been joking. Three fleeing perpetrators nearly crashed headlong into the two costumed men as they approached the portable. Pathwarden winked at Batman, before executing a series of leaps, punches, and body blows. It took Batman a moment to identify the younger man's fighting technique. He knew it, of course; he knew them all. Still, much like capoeira, Krav-Maga was not one of the martial arts that he encountered on a regular basis. He could have joined in at any time, but his purpose tonight was different. Besides, he thought as the second thug sprawled in an undignified heap over his groaning companion, Pathwarden did not seem to need any assistance.

"And now, Sir," Pathwarden said to the third, as thin rays of wavering light sprouted from tiny crystals embedded throughout his costume, "for fifty thousand dollars and a chance at the Ferrari, complete the following phrase: 'out of the frying pan'..." The effect of the undulating beams of light did, in fact, look something like flames. With a strangled cry, the thief wrenched desperately out of Pathwarden's grip to hurl himself blindly into Batman. Batman deftly cuffed the man's hands behind his back. Once the hoodlum was subdued, Pathwarden laid a solicitous hand on his shoulder. "You know, there was probably a smarter way you could have played that one," he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

Inside, Kensai was in the process of tying up the remaining three.

"Next time," Pathwarden said with a straight face, "you're backup."

Kensai barely glanced up. "Oh good, you found the ones I left for you," she remarked. "Just seat them over with the others, if you don't mind." As Pathwarden and Batman complied, Kensai fired a jumpline through a ceiling support strut. Catching its dangling end, she looped the cable around the wrists of the bound men, now seated in a circle. Once all were secured, she released the other end from her launcher, and fastened it around a sturdy wall bracket. Automatically, her hand slipped into one of her belt pouches and extracted a small spool with new jumpline cable—thin, strong as titanium but light, elastic, and durable—she didn't know what the stuff was made of, or how Umbra had gotten her hands on it. She pressed the spool into her launcher and heard the snap that meant that it was locked into place.

"Where are you headed now?" Batman asked abruptly.

"Unless Hindsight alerts us to a CIP" (Pathwarden pronounced it 'sip' then caught himself)—er, crime-in-progress, we'll probably head for downtown and start playing Tarzan," Pathwarden drawled. "Why?" He asked, a hint of excitement stealing into his voice. "Is there something big expected tonight?"

"There are no small crimes, only small crimefighters," Kensai quipped. Pathwarden half-raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak. "Don't say it!" she snapped. She had heard enough short jokes for one night.

Batman glowered. "Are you two finished?"

Kensai nodded, chastened. "Sorry." Pathwarden lowered his eyes.

"Poison Ivy is in Robinson Park. I'm on my way there, now. You two, head for Chinatown. The triads have been too quiet these past weeks. Something will be breaking soon. Maybe tonight."

"Why us?" Kensai asked, suspiciously. "You have Robin and Batgirl. You trained them. You trust them. We're nearly complete unknowns to you."

"Way to look a gift horse in the mouth, Squirt," muttered Pathwarden.

Batman shook his head. It was a fair question. "I trained them. I trust them. I taught them everything they know. But not everything _I _know. They know, primarily, Asian martial arts. The triads are experts in Asian martial arts. Other fighting techniques, such as Krav-Maga or Capoeira may put them off their stride."

"Or Savate," Kensai agreed with a smile.

A flicker of surprise showed through the mask. "You seem to have a penchant for the more obscure fighting arts," he remarked.

"Silver Dragon's idea," Pathwarden explained. "We've all studied, minimum, Judo, Karate, Jujitsu and Aikido, but she insisted that we each master at least one, shall we say, less conventional discipline. Most of us have taken on more than that by now. I mean, for starters, when one of us learns something new, we usually share it with the rest of the team. We each have our specialties, but we don't have exclusive rights to them."

He grinned. "Triads, huh? I'd better ask the rest of the team to rendezvous with us there."

Batman nodded curtly. He turned as if to go. "Batman?" Pathwarden called after him. He turned around. "Thank-you." Pathwarden said simply. "For trusting us."

Batman frowned. "Don't give me cause to regret it." The frown disappeared. "You do have the necessary skills to be doing this." He walked toward the spot where he had parked the Batmobile. "For now, I'll accept that you will be." The driver side door opened at his approach. "And," he added, getting in to the car, "you don't kill."

As the Batmobile sped away, Pathwarden and Kensai exchanged a glance. "Kensai stared at the ground. "Not anymore," she whispered. "Not for a very long time. And not again."

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

Callie found the envelope when she checked the mail, on her return from classes. It had all of their names on it, but no stamp or return address. Inside, was a handwritten note: _Check your roof._

It was signed 'B'.

On the roof was a large packing crate. _How in the world did he get_... She checked herself. The man was a billionaire. The roof was flat. It wouldn't be that difficult to land a helicopter there. She looked around quickly to make sure nobody from a neighboring building was watching. Then she placed one hand on the crate and teleported down.

Fetching a hammer and crowbar, she pried it open. Looking inside she gasped. "Gang," she exclaimed, "come here!" As they tumbled into the room, Callie was pulling out costumes, similar in style and appearance to those which they already wore, but—

"They're Kevlar," Tabitha said, almost reverently, stroking the tunic meant for her in awe. A small, flat, plastic box was attached to the belt. She opened it to discover a number of shuriken, both stars and daggers. Taped to the inside of the lid was an index card, with a single word on it: Learn. Tabitha nodded. She would. There were sharp intakes of breath as other weaponry and equipment were lifted out.

As Cal took out her gauntlets, a folded paper fell from one. Picking it up, she unfolded it to read: This discussion is over. Again, it was signed 'B'.

* * *

A/N: The translation of Kensai's lines in fifth variant is: Shine your spotlight fifty degrees eastward and see why not, brother. And make it brighter, I don't like spies, much. (Yes, the Russian word for brother, is 'brat.') 


End file.
